


Kairos

by Mook_aron



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Child Loss, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Imprisonment, Miscarriage, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Other, Pidge as a gladiator, forced pregnancies, kidnaping, maybe soft pairings later on?, non-graphic rape or non-con, one sided Lotor/Pidge, tags will be updated as time goes on, the galra fighting pits, this fic explores the consequences of sexual abuse, unwanted pregnancies, yall this is gonna get dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 07:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17914550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mook_aron/pseuds/Mook_aron
Summary: kairos/ˈkʌɪrɒs/nouna propitious moment for decision or action.Pidge has been missing for six years. The war moves on, the paladins do not.But a familiar signal deep in space is only the first domino to fall.





	Kairos

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my latest creation.
> 
> Please pay heed to the warnings. This work will be very dark.

* * *

Pidge isn’t sure they’re going to make it, when it comes to the crux point. There’s a single moment, a single alley run that could spell the end of everything— Lotor will never let them survive this escape attempt, not this one that has kill count approaching triple digits.

Not when Pidge is taking the illegitimate heir to the Galran throne with her.

But the moment passes, like a ship of possibilities passing in the night and into the fog of a world that will never know its consequences.

As they huddle in the shadow of an alley, Pidge knows Ali’s sedative will wear off soon enough and as good as her daughter’s behaviour is, it won’t last nearly enough to get them out of the city.

So Pidge makes a call on it, holds onto every fibre of her courage and runs as soon as she spots a gap in the guard, hightails it for the ship she’d convinced to take them off-planet, with every favour she had ever accrued and every credit she’s ever scrounged from beneath beds, out of the pockets of fighters— Pidge pays their way out in blood and filth and dirty money. She won’t ever regret it.

Everything goes well (too well) until their escape pod hits a stray meteor, sending them spinning off from their destination course and into a wild arc that sees them trapped on a floating hunk of space rock far— too far— from their meeting point with the smugglers.

So Pidge takes a gamble, one that could mean life or death— death or freedom.

It’s not a hard choice to make, when the life of her daughter is on the line.

She rigs a long distance communicator from the wreckage of the pod, and sets up a repeating code— one she had drilled into her mind time and time again. Her own personal signifying code— something she knows the Voltron will recognise instantly, if they manage to find the signal.

It’s not a code they’ll mistake, even six years later.

Pidge hunkers the two of them down in the wreckage of the pod, hissing as the wounds on her sides twist with the movement and she sits heavy, body exhausted with fatigue and sore from pregnancy. She’s unsure of how the stress hasn’t pushed her into early labour at this point— but she’s been far more difficult things in life thus far, and the stress of escaping was one she could easily compartmentalise.

They turn to sleep, exhausted and rolled up in the same pilfered blanket Pidge has held onto for years now— a remnant of her first night at the Arena and a monument to every moment that has passed since. The threads are worn, the stink of ash and blood clings to the cloth like the memories themselves.

Ali is out like a light still, the sedative still sitting heavy in her system— Pidge is still worried, still achingly terrified that she’s overdosed her on the sedative but the slow rise-fall of steady breaths against her chest alleviates most of that terror.

With the night hollow and bitter air on her tongue, Pidge follows her daughter into sleep, fitful and dazed.

Time passes like the scenery seen from a train— it blurs so quickly in her feverish mind and slows down to a trickle, muted memories of soothing Ali and giving her the little of their supplies that survived the journey before it blurs once again, caught up in feverish confusion and waking dreams.

A pain like a branding iron rammed against her side slams her into awareness, the terrified movements of a child batting against her side in attempt to wake up. Ali’s frightened, sobbing face greets her— she has no way to know where she is and there are—

strangers outside the tiny space in the pod, almost silhouetted against the light the distance communicator produces in steady waves—

She shifts, aches in a way she cannot show as weakness and pulls the child behind her, gripping the only weapon she has left— just a simple blade, no defense against anything like the rifle she can see hanging from the figure’s waist. “What the fuck do you want?! Who are you?!” Her voice is ragged, low and pained— she’s no match for anything right now, and they probably know it.

There’s a sharp intake of breath, loud enough that Pidge can hear it from where she is and a long moment of silence before the figure speaks.

“P-pidge?!”

She falls back in a moment, recognition sifting into her mind like water into soil and she bites back a sob. “Lance, is… is that you?”

  
There’s a brief pause and a light fills the small space beneath the crashed craft, illuminating a familiar face and no amount of self control can restrain the tear-wet sound of relief that escapes her.

Ali has gone quiet behind her, peering from behind her mother to see what is happening and why her mother is no longer angry. She catches the utter look of grief that twists the man’s face, like pain and loneliness and bittersweet joy rolled into a single emotion. “It’s me, it’s Voltron. We’re here.”

He turns to meet Ali’s gaze and she sees the flinch, the glances along white-silver hair and pointed ears that flare out from the sides of her head— glances to the freckles that decorate her cheeks and the gentle green shade of her eyes— a familiar shade that leaves no room to budge on her parentage. The man looks even sadder upon discovering her, as if the pain hurts more as he looks at her.

Pidge glances along the familiar face, one she had almost forgotten but had held onto in the night, to the faces and names she memorised to prove she had something out there. “I...I didn’t think anyone was coming…”

Lance’s face drops, the colour draining further from his skin and he wipes a hand across his face, holding in whatever emotions are colliding behind his composure. He ducks out of the shallow structure left by the wreckage of the escape pod and stands, waving his arms to gain the team’s attention. “Guys!! She’s over here, we’re going to need a med kit!”

He dunks back down moments later, trying not to block out the entire entrance. “We’re here, we’ve got you. We just need to get off this rock— it’s not safe here and we need to get out of here before the Empire gets wind of us being here.” Pidge can see the lines of his face crease in stress— he looks far older than 6 years should’ve allowed but war is draining, fighting is draining.

Pidge nods, not trusting her voice and takes Ali into her arms, carefully carrying her despite the swollen state of her belly, shuffling out from under the wreckage. They blink at the light emanating from the Red Lion, crouched nearby and almost blinding, even after the rush of light from Lance’s suit.

She’s also not at all prepared to see the entire Voltron team, helmets off— perfectly poised to see the horror shatter across their faces, the stares at her face and she turns to the side, taken aback at how much their horror strikes at something deep in her heart, something she was so sure she’d long ago quashed.

But the movement twists the wounds on her side and she staggers, barely keeping her balance as she keeps Ali on her hip and there are suddenly hands on her arm, supporting her gently but there are hands on her and dangerdangerdanger flares in her mind.

She pulls out of the touch roughly, clutching Ali even tighter and heaves shuddering, pained breaths as she struggles to stay upright— the fever is rearing its head once again, the world blurring in and out before her eyes.

“Pidge, it’s Lance. You know me, you know us? Katie, we need to go—” she’s lost sight of the world now and the darkness greets her like an somnolent lover, draws her far and further from the world and she can only hear the sounds of panic— hands catch her back just before she loses all feeling and succumbs to unconsciousness.

 

 

..........

 

When Voltron receives the signal, it’s Hunk who is in the communications room— fixing wiring in the main console and when the tapped signal echoes in the room, he sits up so fast that he hits his head on the overhead of the console in his hurry to get out— because he knows that signal, has memorised that signal the same way that he has for Lance and Shiro and Keith— and he knows that there’s only one person out there who could possibly know that signal.

He locks onto the signal, and as soon as it locks on— to a small asteroid cluster in the Valderon cluster— he dashes out the door, through the corridors as fast as he can and he’s heaving for breath by the time he reaches the meeting room, words rushing out of his mouth in a singular stream words.

“-itshersignal! Hersignalisonthecommunicators-”

Shiro, already halfway out of his chair, pulls Hunk into a seat and places a hand on the dark-haired man’s shoulder. “Hunk, you need to slow down. What’s this about a communicator?” Hunk meets his eyes, gaze watering but strong as steel.

“Pidge’s signal it’s— it’s on the communicator. I picked it up. There’s a distress beacon running her garrison code— i-it has to be her Shiro!”

Shiro’s face has fallen slack, and around the room, Hunk sees the same frisson of tension run and take hold among the team— a determination beginning to build, synchronised among them and there’s an unspoken command among the six of them.

“Suit up. We’re bringing her home.”

Six years was very late for a home coming.

 

..........

 

Lance wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting— it’s been six years after-all but he still does a double take when he looks into the space left by the wreckage of an escape pod and is greeted by a child who is clearly of Galra heritage, no more than four or five, holding a dagger shakily in front of them but determined— and a still from laying behind the terrified child.

He holds up his hands in clear surrender, hooking his rifle away and shows the child his empty hands— he needs to figure out what’s going on here but the situation is moving faster than he think ahead of. Moments after he hooks the weapon onto his belt, the child is on the ground next to the form that Lance is beginning to suspect he’s going to recognise.

There’s a hiss of pain, a sharp intake of breath and the child is sobbing in that way that only children can manage, hitching and broken and high pitched — and the figure is crouched up in moments, in front of the child in a clearly protective pose. Relatives, probably the child’s mother.

Information is starting to match up in his brain— and he wishes it wouldn’t.

“What the fuck do you want?! Who are you?!” There’s a note of finality, a desperation born from knowing when a situation is completely stacked against you and there is nothing to do but fight until you lose— but Lance knows that voice. Has heard it in panic and in pain, in fear and happiness— Lance knows Pidge voice even 6 years apart.

“P-pidge?”

The inhale of air is so soft it could’ve been lost in the air but the space is silent, aside from the soft stilted noises of the child, terrified. There’s a keen grief in Pidge’s voice, a tremulous and shaking hope as she calls out. He flicks on the suit’s torch, bathing the small space in soft light and he almost chokes on his breath, tucks his horror away as soon as it arises— if he didn’t know who she was, Pidge would be truly hard to recognise now.

Scars lay heavy across the left side of her face, one straight down across her eye and the other a meandering, snakeline of a blade wound that starts at her temple and curls around her lips, her hair cut shorter than he’s ever seen it. Similar wounds are apparent on her upper arms, and chest and— the pieces all begin to click together, as his gaze flicks from the young child and the heavy roundness of Pidge’s abdomen.

The pieces do not show a story he ever wanted to consider.

“It’s me, it’s Voltron. We’re here.”

Pidge is crying, and Lance doesn’t think she even knows it, as she makes no move to wipe them away and her next words are like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of his lungs in one fell swoop. “I...I didn’t think anyone was coming…” He sucks in a deep breath, and wipes a hand over his face, before ducking out from under the jagged metal edges of the supports. He waves his hands in the air, beckoning to where he can see the team gathered nearby.

  
“Guys!! She’s over here, we’re going to need a med kit!”

He sees Shiro react first and, satisfied that the team will get a transport sorted, he ducks down into the wreckage of the craft one more time. “We’re here, we’ve got you. We just need to get off this rock— it’s not safe here and we need to get out of here before the Empire gets wind of us being here.” His voice is soft— apologetic but he speaks the truth— they cannot afford to overstay their welcome this close to the Galran controlled spaces.

Pidge answers with a shaky nod, pulling the child into her arms and Lance moves from the doorway, watching to see if Pidge needs assistance but she manages admirably. In the harsher light of Blue’s controls, Lance can see the wounds that have grown along the edges of Pidge’s sides and thanks the stars that they’ve arrived in time. Even if they are still 6 years too later.

When Pidge catches sight of the team, something harsh catches in her posture and she twists slightly to the side, the child on her hip. It seems to be a move of instant regret as she staggers and Lance automatically goes to support her arm— and it seems to be the catalyst for something previously unknown, tucked in her behind her eyes and a wordless snarl rips itself from her chest.

The brunette is swaying her feet, barely keeping steady enough to carry the child on her hip and Lance can see the exact moment her body gives out. He barely makes it to catch her before she hits the ground, sentence already forgotten in his mouth and he braces his weight in order to support the child as well.

  
“Shiro!”

It’s a barked order, barely even an indication of what Lance needs but their leader is there even as he shouts, medpack in hand and Allura is right on his heels.

Lance can feel panic working itself past his composure, feels the harsh beating of Pidge’s heart through the back of her shirt and the stains dark against her sides.

The child— he thinks it’s a girl but his attention is focused mostly on his friend bleeding out in his arm— is white knuckled on Pidge’s shirt, eyes shuttered in panic and fear.

“Someone take the kid!”

The words seem to spark the child into life, as Allura gathers the child into her arms and is greeted with teeth and nails. The distinctly Galra-descended child becomes a wild thing and Lance is distantly glad the girl doesn’t have a weapon anymore, even as Hunk helps Allura with the panicked child.

In the time that his attention was divided, Shiro has stripped Pidge of her shirt and Lance has to swallow his horror at the state of her torso. A piece of steel is wedged into her side and with the fact she’s still alive, the object must’ve just missed her kidneys.

The lattice work of scars that decorate her skin are an entirely different flavour of regret and horror.

Shiro takes one look at the wound and shakes his head, wordless as he gestures to Lance. It takes him a good few moments to realise what he wants, and it sends a rush of vicious protection through him out of nowhere. She could be dying and— and he can’t let her go.

Though Shiro can carry her without hurting her.

And there’s a child who only knows her mother, and who only knows that Lance is potentially safe, out of a sea of strangers and his heart aches as she is lifted from his arms.

His lap is stained red.

He tries not to think about it, as he moves towards where Allura has coaxed the child under a blanket and hunkers down near the white haired child, arms crossed on top of his knees. He can see Shiro heading towards Green out of the corner of his eye, and puts it out of his mind.

“Hey, kiddo. We can’t keep calling you silly names, can you tell me your name?”

He’s met with mulish silence, green eyes narrowed in a childish caricature of distrust and he sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“Little one, do you know who we are?” He holds a hand out, showing the coloured armour plates and how they match the large armoured lion nearby. “We’re part of Voltron— did your m-” Lance stumbles for a moment, throat stuck around the word for a long second. “Did your mama tell you about when she was part of Voltron? About the Paladins?” There’s a light of recognition in the child’s eyes and he can see her body language becoming more open, as she leans forward and with the tiniest nod.

“She did? That’s cool! Well, she’s was the green paladin and Allura also flies that one! She’s the pretty lady with the cool face markings, and-“ he leans in conspiratorially.” She’s an actual princess. And the big fellow in the yellow, that’s Hunk! He cooks awesome food and he makes the best cookies ever!”

She’s seemingly come out of her shell at this point, leaning forward under the blanket and hanging on his words. He almost misses her voice, quiet and barely a whisper-thread. “Ali.”

He cocks an ear, placing a cupped hand near it with no small amount of comedy. “What was this, oh quiet one?”

He swears her lips ticks upwards into a flash of a smile, but he could’ve been seeing things. “My name is Ali.”

Lance smiles, settling more onto the ground and crossing his legs. “Ah, she speaks! Thanks for letting us know your name!” He feels his smile fade a bit and he sighs again.

“I know it’s scary, but we’re gonna help your mum. She got hurt pretty bad but she’ll be okay. We’re Voltron— we save people and that’s our job. Can you help us, and let us help your Mum? Can you do that for me?”

He waits with bated breath, waits and waits.

Until she nods, tremulous and tiny and suddenly his lap is full and she is crying in heaving sobs against his chest. Great gulping pulls of air and long moments of no air as she struggles to pour her terror out. The signal has been going for three days and he has no idea how long she was alone, with only a fever-stricken mother and the emptiness of space to look out upon.

So he stands carefully, one arm braced under her legs and he can see the others waiting for him, curious looks that he can only shake a head at and he angles his head towards his lion. Shiro has presumably set up Pidge in the black lion and he puts it from his mind. Pidge will be taken care of and he needs to keep the child in his arms calm and somewhat stable.

Shiro’s voice is a little sudden in the strained silence, but it rings clearly enough. “We should get back to the castle. Coran is going to open a wormhole, and it’ll be a few hours even until then. Keep together and keep your eyes peeled.”

There’s a brief chorus of agreement and they break off to their individual lions.

There’s a brief confusion as Lance attempts to get his charge to settle on the co-pilot seat but as she clings to his chest, he soon gives up and lets Ali fold against his side in the chair as he takes off.

It’s a smooth journey, no sign of an empire tail— even though Lance has a suspicion that it’s only a matter of time. They have only the fraction of the story of the last six years but there is far more to this than just Pidge’s disappearance.

Because Lance recognises those markings on the child’s cheeks. Knows the shape of them.

Because Altean cheek markings are hard to mistake and he knows only one white haired male individual with Altean genetics.  
  
His hands tighten on the control board, and the metal groans.

 

 


End file.
